What Came Before
by faepunk
Summary: What came before they arrived on Horizon's doorstep? A small peak into their lives. Just a slice of life kind of thing. They're listed in the order I wrote them, but you can read them in any order, because they aren't related. Now complete.
1. Juliet

JULIET:

I'm so full. I've never felt so full in my whole life. I swear, I can see my belly pushing forward because there's so much food in it. And if I can see it, so can everyone else.

"Why did you eat so much, Juliet?" Mother hissed at me through clenched teeth. "Are you a pig? You'll get fat if you keep doing that." She straightens up and smiles kindly at another lady going past. "Ileana! How are you?"

As Mother goes to talk to her acquaintance, I struggle against the tears in my eyes. Another country club fundraiser from hell…and I'm stuck in the middle of it. I'm stuck in the middle of a veritable banquet, with all the food you can eat, and I've been eating for nearly half an hour straight. And my belly is aching.

I excuse myself to no one in particular and walk, lady-like, to the fancy bathroom, with its perfumed soap and folded towels. I make a quick check under all the other stalls, and see no high-heeled feet. Finally, I lock myself in the stall farthest from the door and drop gracefully to my knees, pressing my clenched fists hard into my belly.

The food comes up effortlessly; a talent born from lots of practice. My eyes water and my nose clogs up. Toilet water splashes up and sprays my face. I'd think it was gross, but it's happened so many times that it doesn't bother me anymore. I can feel my makeup running down my cheeks. There is no such thing as water-proof mascara—when someone creates a mascara that will last through a purge, I will be a very happy girl.

I strain, pushing out the last of the food through odd contortions of my stomach and throat muscles. Finally, I'm finished; my stomach is as empty as it was when I started. I grab a piece of toilet tissue, and start to clean up stray vomit. As I wipe it off the toilet seat, I think about how disgusting this is. How disgusting I am. The flush of the toilet is loud in the empty room.

I listen again for other people before exiting the stall. I wash my hands and fix my make-up. I've got the routine down to a science. I re-line my eyes, powder my face to cover any redness, and pop a zero-calorie breath mint into my mouth. Then I look at myself in the mirror.

You could tell, if you knew what to look for. You could see that my face is a little puffy, a little red, with slightly sad eyes. If you were looking.

I turn sideways and examine my silhouette. Run my hands over my now flat stomach, feel my hipbones jutting through my dress. No harm, no foul. Everything's okay. I'm in control.

I leave the bathroom and go to find my mother, with a smile on my face.


	2. Scott

SCOTT:

I hold the small baggie in my hand. In it are some pills. I bought them from Trevor; apparently his dad has some kind of chronic condition that involves a lot of pain killers. Two of these…two of these, and maybe tonight, my body won't react when she…I shake my head, refusing to think about it. Thinking about it will just make it that much worse, because then I'll have to deal with it twice.

I walk into the bathroom and get in the shower. Trying not to think about it isn't working. In fact, all I can think about is her. Her hands, her hair, her body. Her voice, the voice I've grown to hate. The voice of a skank. She promised me that we wouldn't do it anymore. She lied.

But that's why I bought the pills. Because maybe then, I'll just be gone. I'll be able to float away, be able not to notice how her hands touch my skin, not hear her begging me to say this, say that…do this or that.

I hit my head against the wall of the shower, trying to force her out of my mind. What's wrong with me? I bet any other guy would be thrilled. It's not like Elaine's old or fat or ugly…I used to think she was beautiful. Now she's a sickening monster…and my body still reacts like it did when I thought she was beautiful.

There's a knock at the door. "Scotty? Are you alright in there?" Her voice drifts through the door, invading my space.

I ignore her, rinsing the shampoo out of my hair. Maybe she'll just go away if I pretend she's not there.

Yeah right. That never works at night, and I should have known better than to think it would work now. I hear the doorknob turn, and then she's inside the bathroom.

"Scotty?" Suddenly, the shower curtain swishes. I cover myself with my hands and glare at her.

"Go away!" My voice is high and strained, and I'm blushing.

"Oh, please Scotty. I know what you look like. Don't be silly." Her tinkling, condescending laughter and the way her eyes peruse my naked body make me wish I could hide, but I'm backed into the shower, with only my hands to cover me, and I can't even grab a towel to do a better job.

"Please, Elaine!" I beg, feeling tears of humiliation well up in my eyes. I'm grateful for the hot water streaming over my face and body, so she can't see me cry.

"I was just checking to see if you were okay. I heard something bang against the wall." She drops the shower curtain. "I'll see you later, Scotty." She probably means it to be a promise, but I know better; it's a threat.

She leaves, and I sag against the wall, not bothering to hold back the tears. No one can tell I'm crying like a baby, wishing, hoping, praying that she'll just leave me alone. But I know better.

I finish showering and dry off. I study myself in the mirror, looking for a physical sign of the taint I'm sure she's left on me. But there's no outward sign; maybe a little wariness in my eyes, or a slightly tired expression, but no big blinking neon sign: "I've been used. Damaged goods." It's there though; **I** can see it.

I secure my towel around my waist and leave the bathroom. The hallway seems so long, like in a nightmare where each step makes it longer. Finally, I'm in my room. I shut the door, wishing I had a lock. But no, Dad won't allow a lock. "What if there was a fire? We need to be able to get into your room Scott." Funny. I need to keep **her** out.

I dress quickly. I used to sleep only in my boxers, before Elaine started invading my room nearly every night. Now I wear sweats and an A shirt. If my room wasn't so warm, I'd sleep in more layers than that. It's useless though; even when I slept fully clothed, it didn't stop her. And I couldn't sleep, either.

Well, I'll sleep tonight. I grab the bag from its little hiding place and study the pills again. They're perfect. I hope they work.

I grab two and throw them back, swallowing them dry. They stick in my throat, but finally go down.

Nothing to worry about tonight, right? I sure hope so. I climb into bed. I'm not going to say goodnight to Dad or Elaine. I'm sure I'll see her later, anyway. Shit.

I lay there in the dark, my head buried face down into my pillow. My body's relaxing; I feel good. Loose, like I'm floating. This seems promising.

Suddenly, I hear my bedroom door creak open. The noise makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and I tense.

"Scotty," she whispers. I hear her walk closer, feel her slight weight as she sits on the edge of my bed. "Scotty, sit up."

I shake my head. It feels weird. Her hand slides over my back, and then pulls my shirt up. "Come on," she whines. I groan, and sit up, feeling like a petulant child. Well, you know what? I am a child; I'm not quite 16 yet. And I don't want to do this.

She pulls off my shirt. I want to scream at her, to slap her, to make her stop, but I sit still as a statue and let her take my clothes off. Somehow, even though I'm bigger than she is, stronger than she is, I can't do anything. It's an awful, powerless feeling.

Her hands touch me expertly. I turn my head away, trying to ignore her, trying to pretend it's not happening. _No, no, no, no, no_, I chant in my head. But even my own body refuses to listen to me. I react, just like I always do.

I feel the tears build up in my eyes, but I refuse to cry in front of this monster. I won't. And when she pushes her mouth against mine, I don't fight any more. What's the point? She'll still get what she wants.

She always does.


	3. Auggie

AUGGIE:

"Come on, _mi hermano_," says my brother. "Your turn." He tosses me a can of spray paint. I snatch it from mid air, shake it, and hold it so the nozzle is close to the wall. I lean against the stair railing and start spraying my tag.

"That's it; _ése es mi muchacho! __¡Va Augusto!" _He's grinning, and I hear him grabbing another can of paint and taking the section of wall next to me.

He's moving frantically, painting even faster than usual. He's done almost thirty seconds before I am. He tosses the can to the ground. "Hurry up, man!" he says, looking around nervously. I realize then that he's high; probably speed, but who knows with him?

"Marco, see any cops?" he calls to the lookout.

"_No, ningunos polis_," Marco calls back. No cops. Okay. I finish my tag with a wild flourish, feeling good. Then I step back, admiring it.

"It's beautiful," I whisper to myself, but Abe hears me.

"_Si, es hermoso._ Come on, you a girl?" He smacks me in the back of the head. I think he means to be friendly, but it hurts. I rub my head.

"Shit, man. Just saying." I wipe the spray can off with my shirt and toss it to the ground. "Your prints are on that thing," I say, kicking at the other can with my shoe. Abe shrugs.

"I'm not worried 'bout it," he says.

I grab it and wipe it off with my shirt before letting it fall again. Maybe he isn't worried, but he's also not sober. "Yeah, but I bet _Mami_ would worry about it if they arrested you again."

Abe whirls on me, and he looks pissed. I steel myself, expecting him to take a swing at me. Suddenly Marco yells, "¡_POLIS_!"

Instantly, our squabble's forgotten. Abe jumps over the rail effortlessly and hits the ground running. I leap after him and put as much speed in my feet as I can, my sneakers slapping hard against the pavement. I hear Marco behind me.

We duck through one alley and down another, moving as fast as we can. I feel a stitch growing in my side, but ignore it. "Faster, man!" Marco yells as he passes me.

Suddenly, Abe stops. "Stop!" he calls to us. We stand, hidden in the shadow of the alley, breathing hard. Abe starts to laugh.

Marco and I look at each other as he keeps laughing, holding onto his stomach like he's never seen anything so funny in his life.

"What's up with you, man?" Marco pants. "You're fucking crazy!"

Abraham grins back at us. "No, _you_ guys are the _loco _ones! Running…you gonna join track, Augusto?"

"Ha ha," I pant, gulping down air. Abe grins at me again, and throws an arm around my shoulders.

"Come on. Let's go home before _Mami_ starts to worry."

"_Mami_ started worrying hours ago," I say, checking my watch. "It's three in the morning."

"Fine, before _Papi_ starts worrying," Abe says, and then he's walking, taking me with him.

Well, that's alright. I'm okay with following him.

"Okay, _hermano_," I say, and I hear him chuckle again.


	4. Kat

KAT:

I sit alone, my knees hugged to my chest. The house is silent; almost like there's no one else here. But Mom and Dad are both downstairs, eating dinner. Once again, I couldn't eat. Her chair is still there, still waiting for her. But Shannon's gone. Forever. And even though they won't say it, they blame me.

So they stare at me, noticing that I'm not REALLY theirs, like Shannon was. Shannon, with her blond hair and blue eyes, her pale skin. She was theirs. Me? I'm some crack-whore's daughter, from Ghetto-town, USA. They took me in, adopted me, and what did I do? Kill their real daughter. I bet they've never had a regret like this one before.

She's been gone for six months. Six months. And in those six months, my life has fallen apart. Straight A's turned to straight F's, because I skip school nearly every day. I used to try to get counted there, sneaking out after they took attendance and not coming back. Now I don't bother. They've called Mom and Dad so many times. I can tell they're at their wit's end. And I don't care.

I never used to wonder if they loved me; I knew they did. Now I wonder if they even consider themselves my parents anymore. You know? It'd be so easy for them to just think, "She's not really ours…" I feel tears course down my cheeks.

They never cry. I never saw them cry, not once. Even at the funeral, they didn't cry. I was sobbing so hard I could hardly breathe, but they didn't even shed one tear. Maybe it's because even though they miss her, they're so mad at me that they can't cry.

In fact, you'd think from looking at them that they were fine. Almost like Shannon never existed. If her room wasn't still here, still set up like a shrine, with all her posters and stuffed animals, you'd think she was just a dream.

She was starting to think she was too old for those stuffed animals and Disney movie posters. She'd been working on Mom and Dad to let her repaint her room. Anything but the cotton candy pink she'd had since she was born. And then, there was that trip to the lake. She never got to. Her room will always be the room of a twelve year old girl. SHE will always be a twelve year old girl.

Mom had warned me to watch her, to make sure she didn't get too tired or go too deep. She warned me every time we went swimming. Every single time.

I'm furious. How dare Shannon drown? She was always a good swimmer! She'd never had a problem with that swim before; we'd done it hundreds of times. It's almost like she did it on purpose, just so Mom and Dad would hate me.

I know, logically, that's stupid. She loved me, adored me. She wanted to be like me, and never purposely got me in trouble. I was like her hero, or something. She even had a picture of the two of us on the shelf next to her bed. Our arms wrapped around each other, both of us grinning wildly. Light and dark, but unmistakably sisters.

I grab the picture in my hands and stare at us. We were happy. Why did she have to die? "Why?" I ask the picture, but of course it doesn't answer.

"GODDAMN YOU!" I scream at it, and I throw it hard to the floor. The glass covering the photo shatters into the carpet with a loud crashing noise. I fall to the my knees next to it and pound my fist into the floor.

I'm sobbing madly, scrabbling at the glass. I want to fix it, want to put it back like it was. But the pieces are small; there's no way to salvage this. None at all.


	5. Ezra

EZRA:

"Hey Ezra, you know what this stuff is?" Mark holds up a small bag of white powder. I feel my eyes light up.

"You're kidding me, right?" I ask. "That looks like some damn good coke." I can practically feel it already; God, I want some.

"Bingo. You want some?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah. What's the catch?" I ask.

"No catch. Except, you go first." He holds it out to me.

"What? Isn't it cut?" I ask. "You trying to kill me?" I study it suspiciously.

"It's from a new guy," Mark says.

"Ah," I say, raising my eyebrows. "Okay. You got a toothpick?"

"A toothpick?" Mark says, sounding confused.

"Yeah. You know, little wooden stick with a pointed end?"

Mark ruffles through his desk and comes up with a toothpick. I stare at him and take it. "I don't want to know," I say. Carefully, I dip the very tip into the bag and pull it back out. I sniff very cautiously.

It's definitely coke. Good stuff, but not pure. I make a line on his desk and snort it with the aid of a coffee stirrer.

"Oh, man, that's some good stuff," I say, sniffing again. My nose feels a little weird, but the high is instant and good. I'm not going to complain.

"Ezra, you look like a real geek, but you're a smart fucking geek," Mark says, slapping me on the back. "I wouldn't have known how to do that." He makes another line for himself.

"I'm practically a pharmacologist," I say. "C'mon! Let's go do something!" Suddenly, I have sooo much energy, and I want—no, need, to move.

I sniff again, trying to get the weird sensation out of my nose. No matter how much I sniff, it always feels itchy. "We should…I don't know. Come on! Let's move!" I'm practically pacing circles around Mark's tiny bedroom.

Mark stows the little baggie in his shoe. "You know where the door is," he says, practically pushing past me.

We run down the stairs, laughing at nothing. But damn, this feels—whoo! I pump my fists in the air.

"You boys okay?" Mark's mom asks as we run by her.

"Yeah. We're going out," Mark says.

His mom smiles. "Okay. You two go burn off some of that nervous energy!"

I grin at her. If only she knew.


	6. Daisy

DAISY:

"We bought you new jeans just last week! Why can't you wear those, instead of those god-awful black rags!" My father gestures angrily at the black jeans I'm wearing, with holes cut in the knees and ragged, shredded ends.

"These are the jeans you bought last week," I say deadpan, and it's true. They are. A pair of scissors, some sandpaper, and a little black dye—the jeans never knew what hit them.

"WHAT!" My dad jumps up, moving more quickly than I thought was possible. I duck without thinking about it, scared at the look in his eyes. My eyes dart to the bottle in his hand. Is he seriously drinking straight vodka? What a lush.

"Don't you judge me," he says, reading my mind. "Look at you! You're a mess. A monster! Do you think you're some kind of weird rock star or something? What's with that white stuff on your face? And you have enough eyeliner to be a hooker. Jesus. Is that what you're doing after school?" He glares at me like he actually expects an answer.

I'm angry. His words hurt, even though I try not to let them.

"Well, that's the last piece of clothing we buy for you! You can go be a hooker, if you want to look like one so bad. It'll be a way for you to get some more god-awful white trash rags you wear!" He takes a swig straight from the bottle.

I'm clutching my hands so hard that my fingernails are digging into my palms. I weigh the benefits versus risks of turning my back on him. Screw it. I turn and walk away, being the bigger person and not screaming back all the horrible, hateful shit that's building up inside me.

I walk all the way to my room. I close and lock the door behind me, allowing the dark purple walls to soothe me. I turn on my boom box and let the music blast. Loud, angry music that matches my mood personally. Usually I'd prefer a little Melissa Ethridge, but not today. Today, I want some Marilyn Manson.

I look into the mirror. My make-up is smearing. I grab a make-up remover cloth and wipe it off, looking at my bare face. It's not a bad face; I don't mind how it looks. But they get so angry when I wear all that makeup. And since they hate me, and the feeling is mutual, I wear it. Just to tick them off.

I study my face. Maybe it's time for something new. Maybe a piercing?

I think about it for a minute or two. Yeah. Why not? They'll hate it, and I won't care one way or another. It'll be kind of cool.

I dig through my desk until I find a big safety pin and a lighter. I burn the pin for a long time, until it's really, really hot. I don't want to get some kind of infection, after all; talk about cutting off your nose to spite your face.

I look at my nose again. Well, maybe not. How about my chin? That sounds okay. I grab an earring off of my desk, a small post earring. It'll do for now, anyway. I can buy a real chin stud later. Tomorrow, maybe. I take a deep breath, clench my teeth until they squeak, and push the pin through fast.

It hurts like a bitch. My hand reflexively yanks the pin back out. But yes…there's a hole there now. I grab an earring and put it in the hole. It hurts almost as much as the piercing itself did. I feel tears of pain stream down my face. But I don't make a sound.

Finally I'm done. My chin really hurts, but it looks pretty cool. I smirk at my own reflection, and then stop because it makes it hurt more. Jeez. Who would have thought?

I wipe the tears off my cheeks. "Take that, _Daddy_," I whisper sarcastically. Then I flop down on my bed, and stare at the ceiling.

Maybe while I'm buying that chin stud tomorrow, I'll get a tattoo. That'd tie him in a knot.


	7. Shelby

SHELBY:

"Kitten? Kitten, come in here."

My back stiffens at his words. I don't want to go in there, and I don't want him to call me 'Kitten.' I'm not a cat, and I'm especially not his cat. Ick.

"Kitten, please," Walt calls again. His voice is soft. Dangerously soft. I hate when his voice gets soft.

"For God's sake, Shelby, go see what he wants," my mother says. She's busy stirring something at the stove, but she's dressed in her uniform, and I know she'll be leaving soon. "And hurry back; you need to watch this sauce."

I reluctantly walk down the hall to the living room. He sees me and smiles. His smile is like a shark's—warning of impending danger. "Come here, Kitten."

I do as he tells me. He's looking me over again. He pats his knee. "Sit down," he says.

"I have to go back to the kitchen. I have to watch the sauce." The words are hard, cold. But I'm so sick of this man, so sick of the power he has over me.

"Jess can watch it," he says. He raises his voice. "Jess! Go to the kitchen; your mother needs your help!" He smiles at me. "I'm lonely. I want some company." He pats his leg again.

"I'm too big to sit on your lap," I say, still standing in the doorway. I hear fear in my voice, and I hate my inability to shield it. He smiles again, and I can't decide why. Does he enjoy tormenting me, or does he just think I'm 'playing hard to get?'

"Nonsense. Come here."

I shake my head. "I don't want to. Please. Just leave me alone."

He gets a strange look on his face. "Now, Kitten, we've talked about this before. You're my special girl. I love you." I suppress a shiver. "You wouldn't want for Jess to be my special girl, would you?"

I shake my head, fighting tears. As much as I hate what he does to me, the idea of him hurting Jess—she's only twelve, a baby. I don't want him touching her. I don't even want him thinking about her! She's still innocent, still beautiful.

I was younger than her when he took that from me, and ruined me forever. But one broken, ugly, ruined girl is enough for this family; I'll make that sacrifice for her sake.

"Well, then?" He holds out one arm. I hear the door slam, and realize that Mom has left for work without a goodbye. As usual.

I square my shoulders, push back the tears, and let my face go blank. It'll be over soon enough.

And one day, I'll get him. I'll make him pay. And he'll never hurt me, or threaten Jess, ever again.


End file.
